


Little Miss College Girl

by eratothemuse



Category: Hemlock Grove
Genre: Daddy Kink, F/M, NSFW, Oral, Oral Sex, Smut, canon-typical bloodplay, not safe for work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-07
Updated: 2018-12-07
Packaged: 2019-09-13 10:59:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16891305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eratothemuse/pseuds/eratothemuse
Summary: You have been friends with Roman since high school, but when Roman’s blood supply gets dumped, you make a decision that will change your friendship forever.





	Little Miss College Girl

**Author's Note:**

> Uh, my hand slipped? And because I’m shit at choosing titles, this is what you’re stuck with?? So this is my first Roman fic, and I hope it’s not terribly horrid.  
> \- Meg <3 xx

“What the hell do you mean, ‘dumped it?’”

_“Are you fucking deaf? He flushed it all down the drain, like I said. Olivia scared him by bringing the Feds around and he dumped it— fuckin’ bitch.”_

Roman did not sound pleased on the phone. In fact, he sounded absolutely livid. Pissed beyond all logic. And you couldn’t quite say you blamed him.

“This is serious, Roman. What are you going to do?” your groan is audible as you push yourself up on your dorm room’s lengthy twin bed. You acutely remembered the time when Roman was without a food source as convenient as Dr. Pryce’s solution, and it was not a time when you wanted to be around him. After high school, everything and nothing seemed to change all at once. Shelly was missing, Peter ditched town, Roman inherited his father’s legacy of The Godfrey Institute, and you went off to attend college in the city. Regardless of your different paths, you and Roman remained inseparable— perhaps, even more so than you had been in high school, what with everyone you know disappearing one-by-one. Peter and Shelly had returned to Hemlock Grove, but it wasn’t the same.

_“You think I don’t know that?”_  a pause as Roman takes a breath and you roll over on your bed, feeling your head hit the pillow with all the exasperation you held at the circumstance,  _“The only thing I can do is hunt for a while.”_

“We both remember how that worked out the last time,” you remind, pursing your lips and hearing him make a distasteful noise of annoyance on the other end of your call.

_“Do you have a better fucking idea, little miss college girl?”_

Biting the inside of your cheek, you think. It was a bad idea— that you knew damn well— but could you really leave him to terrorize the streets of Hemlock Grove? Roman didn’t exactly have the best self-control in the world.

Finally, you answer him.

“I might.”

* * *

The rain came down with no regard as to who or what it inconvenienced. You waited at the front of your dorm, key-card in hand as you watched through the glass for any sign of that Maserati which would stick out like a sore thumb in the sea of economic choices that littered the parking lot. Students rushed to and from cars in an effort to avoid the rain. Most didn’t have umbrellas, so the level of water that would soak into their clothes was entirely dependent on how fast they were.

You think this is the first time Roman would show up at your dorm. Usually, you met him somewhere else or came by his house. The dorm was just too crowded and, frankly, public. Besides, your roommate usually kept the other half of your room occupied. Luckily for you, she was at the library studying for finals all night. Admittedly, doing what you should have been doing, but you weren’t about to let Roman handle this situation on his own.

When you spot him, it doesn’t take long for him to zip into a parking space. He doesn’t bother with an umbrella either, instead relying on his long strides to make it to the glass doors you open to let him inside.

“Hey,” he begins, shaking off the droplets from his coat with a quick pop of the fabric.

“Hey,” you repeat reflexively, nodding in the direction of the stairs, “my room’s this way. Come on.”

Roman keeps up with you well, never lagging behind. You suspect he would have even beaten you to the room if he didn’t have to rely on you to know where it was. He doesn’t bother with smalltalk and you can’t help but wonder how long it had really been since he’d fed.

“This is it,” you murmur, coming to the right door. When your key card slips along the door, he’s the one to hurry and push it open, ushering you inside only to snap the door back once he’s slipped in.

“Wow,” he begins, momentarily distracted with glancing around your room. This gives you enough time to deposit your card onto your desk and hop on the tall twin bed in the corner. You get a good look at him when he fingers the edge of one of your textbooks, seemingly observing the classes you were taking. His other hand rested in his jacket pocket. He was wearing a dark sweater beneath it along with grey business pants. Roman looked entirely odd standing in your casual dorm room dressed like that, as if he was the one piece that didn’t fit. When he catches your eyes, he smirks, “This is a shit hole.”

You roll your eyes, shooting back, “And you’re an asshole, but you don’t hear me griping about it.” You bring your legs up onto the bed, crossing them when he comes closer.

The bed dips beside you when he sits there, not having nearly the struggle you did to get onto it with his height. His hand slips around your neck, brushing away the hair hiding it before he holds you by the back of your neck firmly, searching your eyes.

“Are you sure about this?”

“You’re asking me that now?” the scoff comes from you, but you can feel your nervous shaking and you know Roman can, too.

“Don’t fuck with me. I’m serious,” Roman insists, his brows furrowing with a frown forming across his lips.

“So am I. You need this, and I can give it to you for at least tonight,” you huff, shrugging off his grip and rolling up the sleeve to the university sweatshirt you were wearing. “Here,” you offer him your forearm, watching as his eyes slip down to it. The only thing you see in them is hunger. It sends a chill down your spine. You never liked when he looked at you like that, but you trusted him enough now to let him do this. Honestly, you weren’t sure if you were an idiot or not for that.

Only one way to find out.

His hand grips you by the wrist, extending your arm up and towards him before he hunches over it and bites down. You let out a yelp before your teeth clamp onto your own lip to silence yourself, feeling tears wet your eyes at the initial feeling of Roman’s teeth sinking into your flesh. His grip was so tight, you weren’t sure you could get out of it if you wanted to.

After a moment, you let out a gasp, your head lulling back as he takes as much as he can from you. The feeling is almost indescribable. A mixture of pain and strange pleasure that came from the lightheadedness clouding your brain, but there was something else, too. You didn’t know why, but you felt your heart speed up, a soft moan falling from your lips as Roman keeps going. Were you actually enjoying this?

“R-Roman,” you murmur, swallowing thickly as you find yourself clenching your thighs together and shutting your eyes in an attempt to ignore the way your body was reacting to him. You should ask him to stop, but you didn’t know if you wanted him to.

Roman hums against your skin, the feeling of blood trickling down your arm coming almost immediately when his jaw releases you, only for his tongue to follow the trail it makes. When he leans back, his grip on your wrist tightens as his other hand wipes his mouth so he can lick his fingers clean of your blood. Still, some blood stains him, not as easily cleaned off as that.

But it’s the look in his eyes that holds you. It’s still hungry, but in a different way than before. It’s enough to set your skin on fire as you register it— lust.

“Did you just moan?” Roman begins, a smirk finding its way onto his face while he brings your arm back up to his lips. Never breaking eye-contact, he licks over the wound he made once again, cleaning the remnants of blood that was still oozing.

You let out a shaky breath, lying through your teeth, “What? No.”

“Don’t fuck with me,” Roman demands again, letting you pull your arm away from him, but only further invading your space as he leans closer to you on the bed. “I heard it.”

“What you heard was me whining because you bit me and it hurt,” he doesn’t believe your excuse any more than you do.

“Yeah?” Roman’s brow raises as his tongue darts out to lick his lips once more, no doubt because he can still taste your blood lining them, “Or maybe it was because you got so fucking turned on, you couldn’t help yourself.” You make to say something, but can’t. You were so embarrassed you couldn’t even respond, your voice catching in your throat. You wind up staring at him dumbly, your mouth slightly agape as your brain tries to properly function. This only spurs him on, “Is your pussy wet right now, (Y/N)?” You still find yourself unable to answer, frozen as his hand slips over your thigh nearest to him and then, between them, “Well, is it?”

“Roman,” you clear your throat, unable to get much further than his name before he crashes his lips to yours, effectively saving you from having to formulate a proper sentence. He’s not gentle at all, still fueled by the blood and the hunt, his lips moving against yours roughly. He completely dominates the kiss. His hand comes to your throat to splay his fingers along it, easily gripping the majority of your jaw as he deepens the kiss.

You have no energy to push him away, nor do you want to. Instead, you let your palms move to his coat, your fingers curling around the collar as you moan into his kiss. You can feel his cocky satisfaction in the kiss, though the sounds of his own breathlessness is enough to gain some of your own satisfaction.

The taste of the iron of your blood overpowered any other flavor he may have had at first. Roman smelled like cigarettes and expensive cologne, a contrasting combination that somehow didn’t repulse you in the slightest, but rather suited him. The cigarettes were nothing new, but the cologne wasn’t something you’d acutely noticed until now. Roman overpowered your senses, clouding your mind with nothing else as his tongue pressed against your own. The sound of your kiss alone met the silence of the room, combated only by the occasional noise of students passing by in the hallway.

Roman shifts on the bed, pressing you down into the mattress as his lips hover above yours, giving you a moment to catch your breath before plunging you into another kiss. He fits easily between your thighs, as if he were meant to be there from the beginning. Your fingers thread through his hair and you tug a bit, ushering what sounds like a growl from his throat as he retaliates with a nip at your bottom lip that’s deep enough to draw blood. You wince, reflexively pulling back and inadvertently allowing him access to your throat.

“Roman,” you murmur his name again when his teeth scrape down your chin and jaw, his fingers urging your head back which you eagerly allow to give his lips access to your neck. You taste the slight burn on your lip from his bite, knowing the sting would last for the next few hours at least.

You arch into him when he latches onto your neck, not with his teeth this time, but his lips. You knew he was playing with fire— the temptation to sink his jaw into your neck probably at the forefront of his mind, though you hoped he’d already fed enough off of you not to act on that urge. You were unable to lie to yourself about the fact that your slight uncertainty in him excited you. You couldn’t hide it from Roman, either, because soon you’re mewling against him as his mouth works you over, leaving what no doubt would be bruises against your skin. He rolls his hips into you and, even though both of you are still fully clothed, you can’t help the gasp the feeling of it brings.

Roman was hard.

“You never answered my question, so I guess I’ll have to find out for myself,” Roman states, releasing you long enough for him to lean back to remove his coat and discard it off the edge of the bed. Your breath catches as his fingers come to the end of his sweater, not giving you much time to admire the look of him in it before he’s throwing that over his head and off the bed, too. As soon as it’s off, his hands come to your knees, feeling you up on his way to the top of your shorts, letting his fingers slip along the outline of your crotch on the way up. You tense at the brief contact, causing Roman’s eyes to flick from where they had been watching his fingers’ trail up your body to catch your gaze, “Up.” He accompanies the order with hooking his fingers into either side of your shorts and, almost immediately, you obey by lifting your hips. With a smooth tug, your shorts are off, dangling on the end of one foot before you kick them off the rest of the way. You tug your sweatshirt off, feeling entirely too hot in it all of the sudden.

You make to grab at his own pants in an effort to unbuckle them, but he quickly grabs your wrists and pins them above your head, making you groan, “What the hell, Roman?”

“You’re not allowed to touch me until I get my answer,” Roman situates himself so one hand can handle both your wrists, using the leverage of his body weight to keep them pinned to the pillow above you. You briefly think about protesting, but that thought is obliterated when he slips his other hand into your panties, wasting no time in smoothing his finger along your slit. Your groan was as much in pleasure as it was shock, having not expected him to be so fast. Before you can even register his smirk, you feel him sink one finger into you, causing your hips to squirm beneath him.

“God— fuck,” you squeeze your eyes shut. To say you hadn’t gotten any in a while was an understatement.

“Who’s this pussy so soaked for?” he hums, enjoying the blush that spreads along your face. You knew he was saying that just to embarrass you further. You also knew he wasn’t about to continue without an answer.

Quietly, you whisper, “You.”

“Who?” Roman’s thumb presses against your clit, his fingers moving just slow enough to annoy you with the fact that he wasn’t doing more.

“You,” you bite, leaning up as well as you could with his grip on your wrist to nip at his jawline and dare to ask, “Now, what are you waiting for? Fuck me.”

“But I’m not done with you yet.”

His thumb circles your clit faster, seemingly satisfied enough with your answer for now to get on with it, yet still not completely giving you what you asked for. You feel his finger leave you nearly completely, only to be buried into you to the knuckle. Squirming in his hold, you bite back your moans, your arms tugging against his hold in vain. He wasn’t going to let you go, determined to let you know who was in charge right now.

“More, please, Roman,” you break, begging him as he inserts a second lengthy digit. His hips drag against your thigh almost involuntarily at the sound of your pleas, a breathy chuckle coming from him as he watches his torture’s affect on you.

“You’re tight as fuck— when was the last time you got laid?”

“A while,” is all you’ll tell him, shutting your eyes as the continuous feeling of his fingers dragging against your clit builds. When he curls them inside of you, you almost lose it, your walls clenching reflexively around him as you pant, “Oh, right there—”

Before he can get you off, he’s releasing your wrists and slipping his hand from your panties. You’re about to snap at him about stopping when he tugs your panties the rest of the way off your body. His motives are clear as his head dips between your thighs, arms coming around them to tug your cunt directly towards his face.

“R-Roman!” you squeal, coming up off the bed when his tongue delves right between your folds, the feeling of his breath huffing against your clit enough to curl your toes. Your legs tense around him as if to close, but his shoulders were enough to keep them apart. When he accompanies his tongue with his fingers again, he has you coming undone. Making some of the most lewd noises you’d ever made as he eats you out like a man starved. Your nails bite into his shoulder as you desperately grab on to something as your vision goes first, your eyelids slamming shut reflexively as he doesn’t let up, prolonging your orgasm as far as it will go.

Before you can even reorient yourself, he’s turning you as well as he could with your dead weight, smacking your ass with an order of, “Get on your knees.” You doubt you were graceful as you did as you were told, propping yourself on shaky legs before him.

He doesn’t even bother completely removing his pants, instead pulling himself out only as much as he needed to before pressing his cock along your wet core, “You want me to fuck you, huh?”

“Yes,” there’s no denying that you were begging at this point, pushing your hips backwards in a desperate attempt to get what you wanted, though he didn’t allow it.

“Say, ‘Yes, Daddy,’ like a good girl,” Roman growls, winding his hand into your hair to tug you up until your hands barely pressed into the comforter by the fingertips and his breath was at your ear. You hadn’t thought it was possible for you to get any more turned on than you already were. You were wrong.

You don’t even think twice, “Yes, Daddy, please—!”

Roman lets his tip sink into you, filling you just fast enough that it felt as though you barely had time to adjust before he was all the way in, his hips smacking against the flesh of your ass. Your mouth is open in a silent cry, feeling his fingers slip over your shoulder to your throat to keep you in place as he fucks you at a relentless pace. You don’t think you’ll last long at this rate, what with the aftermath of your last orgasm still electric in your veins.

Roman was relatively silent for once, aside from the quick breaths and groans that would come as he kept his quick rhythm. You, however, were not as silent, despite how desperately you tried to keep it down to prevent the entirety of the dorm from knowing what was happening to you. With nearly every thrust, every lewd smack of his skin against your own, you bit at your bottom lip, but still some whimpers of moans burst forth. It seemed out of the two of you, you were coming undone the fastest.

“Daddy— ah— bite me, Daddy,” your voice was hoarse as it suddenly burst forth, Roman’s fingers at your throat tightening as his hips lose their pace briefly in the wake of your plea.

He lets go of your neck to bring his index finger to his lips, biting it just enough to force blood before he moves to mark your lips with it in some strange way of claiming you that just felt right at the moment. When they brush against your lips, you open them, instinctively taking his fingers into your mouth and sucking.

Roman groans deep at the feeling, burying his face against your shoulder in an open-mouthed kiss along your skin at first, only to bite down just as you’d asked him to. You cry out against his fingers, your tongue tasting his blood as your shoulder stung, the feeling of his deep thrusts enough to easily combat the pain. Within moments, you feel yourself lose control again, your fingers grabbing at the sheets beneath you as you feel your legs shake, your orgasm hitting you like a tidal wave.

Roman hums against your skin, a low moan as his hips lose their pacing, more erratic before he nearly pushes you away from him just in time to cum on your lower back. When you look back at him, you notice the red stain of blood that marred from his lips to his chin, the air of the room hitting your sensitive and bloody shoulder sending another whimper from you.

His chest heaves as he brings his index finger to his lips, sucking on his own wound while watching you for just the moment it takes before he releases it, “Fuck.” Roman moves back over you, kissing and licking up the mess he made on your shoulder, though you knew the only true way to clean up your blood would be to take a proper shower. Hugging the pillow to your chest, you breathe deep as he finishes up before turning over on the bed.

He leans over to fish through his coat pocket, recovering a cigarette and a lighter before you ask, “Are you still hungry?“ Roman places the cigarette between his lips and lights it. You don’t bother telling him that smoking wasn’t allowed in your dorm— as if that would stop him.

“Don’t worry, I promise not to eat you in the middle of the night,” Roman murmurs from behind the cigarette before taking a puff of it and leisurely exhaling. A smirk comes to his lips as he looks over to you suggestively, “At least, not in the bad way.”


End file.
